Birthright
by Marz1
Summary: It's another mouth to feed. It's another target on their backs. John thinks it's a resource. Dean thinks it needs their protection. Sam thinks she's his friend.
1. Chapter 1

**Birthright**

**By Marz1**

**Chapter 1**

Disclaimer: I don't own the Winchesters, or the X-men, or their respective verses. They belong to Kripke, Stan Lee, Fox, and Disney? This may be an incomplete list. I am not on it.

Warnings: Rated T for teen because there are demons and racists and angst and swearing! There is also violence, because the Winchesters are involved.

There is a longer Author's note at the end of this chapter, but for starters; this story features teenage Winchesters, and the first series of X-men movies, so the times lines have been tweaked a little.

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**Nebraska…**

They pulled off the highway and followed a narrow two-lane road through endless fields of corn. Sam's nose was running nonstop and his eyes were itchy and swollen. Dean had teased him about being a crybaby for a few minutes, but Sam was so obviously miserable, Dean quit even without their father calling him off.

They came to a dirt road, blocked off by a cattle gate. There was a man in a grubby t-shirt and jeans leaning against it. The man had a rifle on his shoulder and a cowboy hat pulled down over his eyes. Their father rolled down the window as the man approached the car.

"Wilson sent us," their father said.

"Did he now?" the man asked. "To sell or buy?"

"Buy," their father said, taking an envelope off the dashboard and folding back the flap to show off the stack of bills inside.

"You got I.D.?" the man asked, looking in through the window at Sam and Dean.

"No," their father said.

"Good," said the man.

He walked back to the gate and swung it open. They drove onto a dirt road, still surrounded by corn. It was another half hour of corn before they pulled into a gravel lot with a dozen beat-up trucks and a couple of campers. There was also a broken-down tractor, on which a group of small children were climbing. Sam wouldn't have thought it that strange, except a couple of the kids had shaved heads with swastikas drawn-possibly tattooed-on the backs of their bald little skulls.

"Dad-" Sam started.

"I see them," his father said. "It doesn't require you mentioning it."

"What kind of place is this?" Sam asked.

"I told you before, it's a place where we are getting supplies," he said.

"You didn't say we were going to Nazi boot camp," Sam said.

His father turned in his seat and glared. Sam hated himself for the way he flinched back. "God damn it, Sam, we are here to buy guns, not sign up. These people will sell to anyone, not just Hunters like us. It's not just neo-Nazis out here. There are three dozen other kinds of nut jobs and I don't need you saying something that'll get us all shot. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Sam said, lowering his eyes.

"Good. You're going to be watching the car. Anybody tries anything, you honk the horn to signal us, or you shoot them, understood?" his father said.

"Yes, sir."

"And if anybody tries to talk to you, you have no opinions about anything, got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Move it, Dean, I want to get this over with as quickly as possible."

"Yes, sir," Dean said, with a lot more enthusiasm than Sam could ever put into those words. He gave Sam a sympathetic pat on the arm.

His brother and his father climbed out of the car and marched over to the dilapidated barn at the far side of the gravel lot. Sam kept his eyes peeled and his hand on the pistol his father made him carry. Fifteen minutes passed in dull, corn-scented silence. Sam looked at the other cars in the lot, trying to figure out from their bumper stickers what part of the lunatic fringe they belonged to. Some had religious radio station call letters, others had white supremacist logos, or slogans about keeping the border closed. There was a sticker on one of the camper that said "Friends of Humanity". As he watched, the camper moved slightly, rocking on its shocks.

Something about the camper really bothered him. He couldn't explain it, but he had an almost uncontrollable urge to investigate it.

"There's a demon in there," a child's voice said.

Sam very nearly shot a hole through the floor of the car. He hadn't seen the boy sneaking up on him, but now his face was less than a foot from Sam's, looking in the window. Sam gulped. The boy was probably eleven or twelve, at least a couple of years younger than Sam. The boy grinned and showed off a chipped front tooth. Sam didn't see any swastikas on him.

"A demon?" Sam asked.

The boy nodded. "It's got cloven feet and it can freeze you just by looking at you. You want to see?"

"Won't it freeze me?" Sam asked.

"Naw," the boy said. "They taped its eyes shut. It looks like a girl mostly, except for the hands and feet."

"I'm not supposed to leave the car," Sam said, trying not to sound like too much of a dork.

If it was a demon his father would want to know, but he would not approve of Sam investigating on his own. The trailer was right out in the open, too, so his father would see him right away if he came out of the barn. And if it really was a demon, couldn't it escape from a camper?

"It's right there," the boy said. "It'll take like a minute."

"Yeah, alright," Sam said.

He flicked the safety on and put the pistol in his waist band. The boy didn't even comment on the gun.

"I'm Todd," the boy said.

"Sean," Sam lied, as he closed the door of the car.

"You Irish or something?" Todd asked suspiciously.

Sam shrugged. "Don't know."

"Whatever, c'mon," Todd said, trotting across the lot to the camper.

Sam looked over to the tractor where the kids had been playing before. They were gone. A heartbeat later, gun fire cracked the air. Sam dropped to one knee and drew, trying to find the source. Todd looked back at him, smirking.

"They're just testing stuff on the range behind the barn," Todd said. "They got in a load of machine guns. My dad's here to get an AK-47 or something. Hurry up. Before they come back."

"Before who comes back?" Sam asked.

"The FOH guys. It's their camper and they're major assholes," Todd said.

Todd jogged the last few yards to the camper and climbed up on the bumper to peer in a window. He cupped his hands around his face and pressed his nose to the glass. A moment later he hopped away and waved Sam forward.

"It's in there, look."

Sam was tall enough that he didn't need to stand on the bumper to see in. He pressed his face to the glass. There was straw all over the camper floor and a dog dish with cloudy water in the middle. He didn't see any lines of salt or sigils to keep a demon trapped.

"Do you see it?" Todd asked.

"No." Sam said.

"It's against the wall on the left. It's trying to hide in the hay."

Sam looked to the left and started. He saw "it" now. "It" was a girl, naked and curled up on her side. She had tried to bury herself in the straw, but there wasn't enough to really hide her. He couldn't see her hands, they were behind her, but he could see her legs. Her ankles were shackled together. He could see her feet very clearly. They weren't cloven. They were just deformed. Each foot had only two large hook-like toes. Sam had seen a picture of feet like that in the biology text book of the last high school he had attended.

"I don't think that's a demon," Sam said. "I think it's just a person with birth defects."

"You mean like a mutant?" Todd asked.

"Uh, yeah," Sam said.

"That's pretty much the same thing though, isn't it?" Todd asked.

"I don't-"

Sam's explanation was cut off by another burst of gunfire.

"That sounded like the AK!" Todd shouted, taking off past the camper and heading for the barn.

Sam looked back at the Impala. He looked around the lot again. No one would see. He made up his mind, and took the lockpicks out of his pocket. He didn't let himself think about it. If he did, he would worry about what his father would say…what his father would do if he did not agree with Sam's actions.

His brain switched over to autopilot. He could pick a lock blindfolded and with his hands cuffed behind his back. In broad daylight, the crappy tumblers didn't stand a chance. The door opened with a squeak, and Sam tensed and looked around, but no one came running.

"Hey! Girl! Wake up!" he hissed.

She didn't move. She could be asleep or unconscious, but he'd seen the camper shake only a few minutes earlier. She was probably playing possum. Sam wondered if it was so he would leave her alone, or so she could lure him in. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small flask of holy water. He unscrewed the cap and flicked his wrist. A neat row of droplets flew from the flask onto the girl's foot. They didn't burn her skin or even smoke. Her toes twitched a little, but she didn't otherwise react.

"I'm trying to help you!" Sam hissed. "Can you understand me? They could come back any minute!"

She still didn't move. It occurred to Sam then that if she had one birth defect she might have more. She might be deaf or something. He leaned into the camper, but couldn't quite reach her. He leaned back out and looked around. There was still nobody there. Swallowing his nerves, he crawled inside. The trailer reeked of urine and vomit. He felt something soaking through the knees of his jeans.

He reached out to shake her, to get her to sit up and look at him.

His hand touched her knee.

_He couldn't scream. He was trying so hard but his throat was locked up and he couldn't get any air. Screaming wouldn't do him any good. They were going to tear him up and beat him and burn him and no one was coming to save him because they were all dead. And it was his fault. He'd gotten them all killed. Tears burned his eyes. Now they had him and he was all alone and they were going to take their time…_

A shoulder bumped him hard and he fell on his side. The desire to scream faded but the other horror remained, echoing in his head as he got up. He was shaking so hard he could barely get his hands and knees under him. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and saw the girl was looking at him. She had short dark hair and her eyes were both purple and bruised. They were not taped shut.

"Will you still help me?" she asked in a hoarse whisper.

"W-what was that? What are you?" Sam asked.

"I don't know," she said.

Sam reached a shaking hand into his pocket and took out one of the rosaries Pastor Jim had given him.

"Hold this," Sam said.

She half turned around for it since both hands were chained together behind her. Each one had one finger and one thumb and all of the digits were too thick and bent in too many places. The sliver cross on the rosary touched her. Nothing happened. Sam nodded and brought out his lockpicks again. He tried very hard not to touch her again, scared by what happened the last time. Despite his caution his fingers brushed her wrist as he got the first shackle off.

_He might make it. Maybe he could trust him. He was obviously a religious nut job, but maybe he really was going to help. Or maybe he was just going to burn him at the stake._

Sam shook himself free. She was staring at him, still holding the rosary. He realized now that there was dried blood all over her back and her skin was a patchwork of bruises. He got the other shackle off her wrist and started work on the one's trapping her ankles. It took all of thirty seconds.

He crawled back to the door of the camper and looked out. The coast was still clear. He climbed down. She crawled after him, but paused just inside. He thought she might've seen something, but he looked all over and saw nothing. He was about to demand she hurry, but paused. Thinking he had figured out the problem, he took off his jacket and handed it to her. She put it on with shaking arms, but still didn't get out.

"I can't walk far," she said.

"It's just to the black car, right there," Sam said, pointing to the Impala.

She nodded and started to climb out, but she lost her grip on the door frame and started to tumble. Sam caught her, trying to touch only the jacket. He didn't succeed and his head was once again awash in confusing thoughts.

_The sun is so bright. Everything is tilting. That's not his car. There were others. There was a father and a brother. The father was terrifying._

"He's not terrifying," Sam muttered, adjusting his grip so he was only holding her under her jacket covered arms. "Come on."

He hustled her across the gravel to the open door of the Impala and all but shoved her in. He looked back and saw the camper door was open, and there was a trail of straw that they had shed on their short journey. It led straight to the Impala.

"Shit," Sam gasped. "Lay down on the floor!" he told the girl.

Sam closed the door of the car almost all the way and then sprinted back to the camper. He pushed the door closed and heard the lock catch a second before he heard the running footsteps. He dropped to the ground and rolled under the camper. A moment later a half dozen small legs passed through his field of vision. They didn't stop at the camper, but continued on down the rows of cars. He crawled back out of under the camper and started scooping up the straw, duck-walking back towards the Impala, collecting straw along the way. When he had all he could find, he stood up, and rushed towards the rows of corn at the edge of the lot. He dumped it into the loose earth and rushed back.

He didn't rush fast enough.

His father and Dean were coming out of the barn. Dean had a duffle and long rifle in a soft case strapped over his shoulder. His father's hands were empty, but his eyes were locked on Sam like a laser sight. Sam froze with his hand on the Impala's door. His father marched right up to him, and got into his personal space. Maybe the girl was right. John Winchester was terrifying.

"I told you to stay in the car," his father growled.

Sam gulped. "I kept it in sight, Sir."

"Sammy? You been crying?" Dean asked as he finished stuffing their new weapons into the trunk.

Before Sam could deny it, his father had grabbed his face and tilted his head up. Sam thought he had wiped his face clean but there must have been traces. Sam gulped. He saw his father's nostrils flare.

"Are you hurt?" his father asked.

"No, sir," Sam said.

"What happened?" his father demanded.

"I'd rather not discuss it here, sir," Sam said.

"We got trouble coming?" he asked.

"Not yet," Sam said. "But maybe soon."

His father nodded. "Get in the car."

Sam got in the back, while his father and Dean took the front seats. Sam let his eyes drift to the floor space behind Dean. He could see a bunch of stuff piled up on the floor, old fast food bags, back packs, and books. Under the pile he could see a little bit of his jacket. The girl was very good at hiding. The engine started with a deep growl. His father started to back out but slammed on the brakes. Sam whirled.

They had almost hit a small pack of children who had been running through the lot. Sam exhaled. And his father got them moving again. They rolled out of the lot and back into the corn. Sam rolled down his window a little despite the pollen and listened. He could hear gun fire very faintly over the sound of the engine, but no particular sounds of alarm. They passed the same guy guarding the cattle gate on their way out. He didn't look at them any more suspiciously then he had on their way in. When they pulled back onto the highway he worked up the nerve to speak.

"What are the 'Friends of Humanity'?" Sam asked.

"Some kind of eugenics group," Dean answered. "They claim all the problems in the world are caused by mutated humans, and that humanity has to be purified or some shit. They're pretty much neo-Nazis except they pick on kids with extra fingers instead of people with dark skin. It's not like mutants can really do anything. Most of the crap they blame on them is probably demons and witches."

Sam felt something in his chest relax. It seemed like Dean didn't have anything against mutants. Sam was about to speak when his father's voice cut through his calm.

"That isn't entirely true, Dean," their father said. "Mutants can be as dangerous as anything we hunt, more so in some ways. They don't leave traces like demons do. They don't follow patterns like Windigos or werewolves. They aren't all evil, but they are just as dangerous."

"Aw, come on, Dad," Dean said. "What about that mutant chick with three boobs in Total Recall?"

Their father did not look amused. "The FOH, they do something to you?"

"No sir," Sam said.

"Did they see _**you**_ do anything?" he asked.

"No sir," Sam said, not quite sure what that meant.

"What were you doing out of the car, disobeying orders?" his father demanded.

"A boy came up to the car and told me there was demon chained up in the back of that FOH camper parked behind us. I went to look," Sam said. "It was just a girl. I let her out."

His father didn't slam on the brakes or anything like that, but Sam still felt like the front seat had hit him in the face when he saw his father's expression.

"How do you know she wasn't some kind of monster?" John asked. "Your brother and I were coming right back. You know you should have waited. How could you do something so stupid? You just let something loose with all those kids running around? And if the FOH caught you breaking into their car you think you'd still be breathing?"

"I didn't let some _**thing**_ loose. I let a girl loose, and nobody deserves to be beaten and chained up like an animal just because they were born short a few toes!" Sam said.

"And you know for a fact that was the only thing off about it? Its toes?" John said, obviously angry, but still in control of himself.

"We didn't have a long talk or anything, but she didn't react to holy water, or silver," Sam said.

"So what happens next, Sam? You really think she'll make it out of there? She'll either get lost in the cornfields and die there, or the FOH will catch up to her and she'll tell them who let her out," John said.

"Or she'll catch a ride out in a '67 Chevy Impala," Sam said.

He knew saying it like that, with that much attitude would just make things worse, but he couldn't seem to keep his mouth from moving. This time his father did slam on the brakes.

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Author's Notes: This is a Supernatural and X-Men movie 'verse crossover, but it has a Winchester family focus. The first half of the story will be very Impala-centric with assorted cameos. Originally Rogue was going to be a big character in this story, but I ended up replacing her with an OFC, because Rogue just wasn't working with the plot. Hopefully my OFC won't end up a Mary Sue, or shot in the face by John Winchester. Also, timelines have been adjusted a bit to make the story work, and this does not take into account any Days of Future Past time travel. Reviews are always appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

**Birthright**

**By Marz1**

**Chapter 2**

It was something they had done a thousand times, but this time Dean wasn't sure they'd make it. John went to check them into a room, leaving Sam, Dean and the mutant girl in the car. Dean wanted to scream at Sam, "What the hell were you thinking?", but he was afraid to break the silence. Their father had been unusually quiet on the ride into town, and he wouldn't drive them into a populated area to have a screaming match. At least Dean hoped he wouldn't.

Their father came back with keys and drove the car around to their room. The heavy silence remained. They'd gotten a room out at the end of the row, with a dozen yards of parking lot and then an empty field beyond. Dean thought he could see a wrecked bus out there, but it was too dark to be sure.

They started unloading the car, getting a feel for the activity in the lot. There was only one security camera and that was pointed at the office, not out at the rooms. Still, it was early in the evening; they would have to risk exposure, or guard their prisoner in the car until full dark. When the highway cleared up, Dean signaled Sam, and he helped the girl up off the cramped floor. Sam tossed an extra blanket over her, but Dean could still see her ankles and feet. Her ankles were a bloody mess of infected scrapes, but her feet held most of his attention.

She only had two toes on each foot and they stuck way out to the side, leaving a big hollow space in the middle where the skin looked loose. The toes curled as she walked, scratching the pavement with little dog nail sounds.

When she was in, their father took the last bag from the Impala and waved Dean into the motel room ahead of him. When they were all inside, his father shut the door, and stood in front of it, with his arms crossed, as if he expected them to try and escape. Dean looked to the window. He thought he could probably dive through it before his dad could stop him, and a smirk crossed his face. His father's eyes found his and the smirk disappeared. His dad turned his glare toward Sam and the girl.

Despite looking ready to collapse, the girl had not sat down. She hovered next to Sam, who was backed into a corner, literally and figuratively. She still had the blanket over most of her. Dean could see black hair and dusky skin, but her face was bruised and swollen to the point that he couldn't tell what race she was. He thought she was probably Latina, but he couldn't rule out Indian.

"Girl," their father ordered. "Get in that bathroom and wash up. We'll find you something to wear."

She scurried across the room and the bathroom door slammed. Sam shifted a little as if he were hoping to go with her. When they heard the shower sputter on, their father looked at Sam.

"Explain."

"Told you already," Sam said, looking down at his feet and then at the wall behind their father's shoulder. "A boy told me there was a demon in that camper, and she wasn't a demon, so I rescued her."

Their father stepped forward and Sam tried to retreat, but the wall got in his way.

"The stunt you pulled, not mentioning she was in the car until we were on the highway, explain that."

"I…I thought you might throw her out, so I wanted to make sure she had a good head start before I said anything," Sam said.

"If she was a demon you could have gotten us all killed."

"She's a girl. I checked," Sam said.

Dean held back a snicker, but his father shot him a glare anyway.

Dean wished Sam would just apologize and grovel, but knew he wouldn't. Dean was pretty sure if Sam had just waited for them to get back and explained the situation, or told them about his actions with less of chip on his shoulder, their father would have let it go, but Sam had to go and turn it into another battle with authority. Like he expected suddenly to be able to show up their dad, like there would be some kind of prize for that, instead of hurt feelings and anger and extra P.T. Dean knew he'd be left to patch things up, like always.

"What do you expect me to do with her?" John asked.

"Let her go," Sam said.

"Just give her a couple a' bucks and put her out the door," John said. "Is that it? You think a girl that young can look after herself."

"Some girls can," Sam said, and then looked guilty.

Dean suspected strongly that Sam did not mean the girl currently in their motel bathroom. Their dad just looked down at Sam with that stony unimpressed expression he got when he wasn't sure how mad he should be yet.

"That girl can't and you know it," John said.

"Maybe Pastor Jim can find her somewhere to go," Sam said.

"And how's she gonna get there?" John asked.

"I'll find her a bus," Sam said, his scowl coming back.

John gave an entirely unimpressed snort and tossed Sam his cell phone. Sam managed not to drop it, and called the Pastor's number. Even over the sound of the bathroom pipes knocking and everyone's intense breathing, Dean could hear the Pastor's answering machine click on. Sam left a brief message asking Jim to call him back. John's stare hadn't thawed. He pointed Sam toward the motel's phone book, and Sam paged through to find Greyhound.

The entire motel was probably out of hot water by the time the girl turned the shower off. Dean supposed he couldn't blame her for being extra thorough. They could hear her thumping and stumbling around in there, and Dean belatedly remembered his father had promised the girl clothes.

"Sammy, you still got those green pajama pants that are about a foot too short for you?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Sam said, scrambling to get them out of his bag. Dean went to his own duffle and dug out an Iron Butterfly t-shirt, on the theory that girls liked butterflies. They didn't have any underpants that would work for a girl-the Winchesters were boxer men-but Dean did have a bra with a phone number in it, stuffed way down in the bottom of his bag. He folded that inside the shirt, grabbed the pants from Sam and knocked on the bathroom door. It opened a crack and he handed the clothes in. His hand brushed the girl's as she took them, and Dean stumbled back grabbing at his head.

_What if they were planning to do something worse than the FOH? But they got me out of there, and they let me wash, but they were all men, but they couldn't touch me for long and Sam was nice, but what if they….what if they…_

A hand clamped down on his arm and Dean gave a strangled cry, twisting and trying to pull away. He lost his balance and fell to the thin, scratchy carpet. He knew the man standing over him was his father, but his hands came up to ward off blows.

"Dean, what the hell is wrong?" his father demanded.

Dean blinked. Sam had come over to gawk at him, too.

"Dean?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. "Don't know," he answered, fighting his own throat to avoid screaming. His legs and shoulders ached and his wrists, ankles, and back stung. Hunger gnawed at his stomach.

Their father pulled a gun from his waistband and turned toward the bathroom, and Sam scrambled to get between him and the door.

"It was an accident!" Sam shouted.

Their father grabbed Sam and dragged him out of the way, but Sam latched on to their father's arm and kept trying to pull him back. Dean knew his younger brother was seconds away from a sleeper hold. He dragged himself up off the floor.

"I'm fine!" Dean shouted. "It's fine. Everybody stop!"

And miraculously everybody did.

"So," Dean said, trying to be casual. "The feet aren't the only thing weird thing about your new girlfriend."

Sam looked guilty as hell, and he let go of their father's arm, though their father did not release his grip on Sam's shoulder. He didn't put his gun away either.

"If you touch her, you can hear what she's thinking. She can hear you," Sam admitted.

"Why didn't you mention this before?" their father demanded, shaking Sam so hard that his teeth clicked together.

"I thought it would go better if she explained it. I didn't think anyone else was going to touch her," Sam added sullenly.

"Dean?" their father asked.

"I'm alright. I just got…really scared for a second," he said.

"What was she thinking?" their father asked.

"She thinks you're going to do something to her," Dean said. "And she's frickin' afraid of everything."

"What were you thinking about when she touched you?" his father asked.

"Uh…about a naked chick in a bathroom?" Dean said.

Sam made a bitch face at him, but their father let him go and put his gun away. He went and knocked on the bathroom door, rattling the frame.

"Girl, get out here," their father ordered.

"Her name's Maya," Dean added, not sure how that information had slipped into his brain.

She opened the door and their father stepped back. He glared at her like he was trying to set her on fire. She was very careful not to touch him as she walked out of the bathroom. She must've heard them fighting.

"Go, sit," he ordered, pointing her toward the little table under the window.

She tried to walk upright, but she had trouble balancing. Sam started towards her, but he drew back at the last second as their father glared at him. She made it to the chair and slumped into it, crossing her arms over her chest and tucking her hands out of sight in her armpits.

"Show me your arms," their father ordered.

She looked down, pressing her lips together.

"It's ok," Sam said. He dropped to his knees and pulled a big first aid kit out of the pile of duffle bags they had brought in.

Dean wasn't convinced their father was interested in medical treatment, but she stretched out her arms on the table. She'd tried to clean out her open wounds in the shower, and a lot of half-scabbed abrasions had burst open. Sam wasted no time with the rubbing alcohol. Dean expected Sam to go scrambling back with a fried brain, but contact didn't seem to bother him. Of course he could be doing his best to hide it, to keep their father calm. Dean watched as Sam turned the girl's hands over, apparently unbothered by their withered appearance. Sam did wince a little in sympathy when he saw the oozing crescent shaped marks on her right hand.

"Somebody bit you?" Sam asked.

The girl shook her head. "I thought if…maybe if…my thumb wasn't there, I could get the shackles off…but I lost my nerve. They noticed and tied 'em behind me anyway."

Sam just kind of nodded, and slathered antibiotic all over the wound. When he was done, the girl's hands and feet were so bandaged you couldn't tell that they were weird.

"Anywhere else?" Sam asked.

The girl eventually nodded and scooted around in her chair. She pulled up the back of her shirt, and Dean could see someone had cut a bunch of long lines into her back. The cuts were mostly shallow and had partially healed. It took him a second to figure out they were letters. Someone had carved the word "mutie" into her back. Dean wondered why her captors bothered. The hands pretty much gave it away.

"It's too late to stitch," Sam said. "I'll bandage it, though."

Dean looked over at his father, who looked a little less hostile, thought he doubted the girl would be able to tell from his face.

"Anywhere else?" Sam asked, again.

"No," she said.

Sam went and pulled a comforter off one of the beds and wrapped it around her.

"How'd you end up in that camper?" their father asked before she could get too comfortable.

"They came to our house. We saw all these trucks coming up the driveway, and my mom told me to hide in the crawl space and she'd tell them I'd run away from home." she said.

"She call the police?" their father asked.

"The sheriff was with them. He was even in uniform," she said.

Dean wasn't particularly shocked. They had come across as many dirty cops as clean ones in their travels. Of course, more common than either of those were the just plain lazy ones, happy to blame weird murders on bears and ex-boyfriends when something obviously unnatural had happened.

"So you hid. Then what?" their dad prompted.

"They knocked and mom answered the door, let the sheriff and a couple of others in. She said I'd run away after the last time I got beat up a school. They said they knew that wasn't true, but she stuck to her story. I could hear them all walking around the house, knocking stuff over in my room. They called for me to come out, said I was just going to be sent to a group home with other mutants, and I wouldn't cause problems for my mom anymore. But I stayed hid. Then they said…if I didn't come out on the count of three they'd shoot my mom. She laughed at them said they were full of it. I figured I should stay put. There were police there…and people from church…I didn't think…people don't just come to your house and shoot you."

Dean looked at his father. His face had gone hard again.

"They started counting, and then one of them yelled really loud. I guess mom kicked somebody or something. I heard the gun go off. And she screamed. She screamed they were going to kill her anyway. She started cursing them out. And I didn't…I didn't come out. I didn't help my mom. And…the gun went off again, and it got quiet. Then I heard them going out the door. I wasn't sure if they had all gone out. I thought it might've been a trick, but I got out of the crawl space and they were all outside. I went to check on my mom. And she was still alive. I tried the phone, but it was dead. And I looked out through the front window and they were pouring gasoline all over. I dragged her out the back door, but they were out there, too. She told me to try to run, but I can't run worth nothing anyway. I got hit with a taser and thrown in that camper."

"Your mom?" Dean asked before he could stop and think.

"They lit the house and threw her in the front door," the girl said. "But I think she must've hit her head, and been knocked out. She didn't move even when her clothes caught…so she must've been knocked out."

Her voice was breaking as she finished talking, but she wasn't really crying.

"You got any other family?" their Dad asked.

"Mi abuela…my grandmother lives in a nursing home down in Georgia," she said. "She's got dementia."

"What about your father?" John asked.

She just shook her head.

"Is he dead?" he pressed.

"No. But I've never met him. He walked out about an hour after I was born," she said, holding up her bandaged hands. "He said I wasn't his. Court tested him twice and said I was. He left the state. He still owes my mom…owed my mom 15 years of child support."

"Can you think of anyone who would take you in?" Dean asked.

"My friend Amanda and her family were nice to me, but…it's the same town…people would know I was back…" she trailed off.

"We know a priest that might be able to put you up somewhere," John said.

"I'm Catholic," she said hopefully, finally looking up at John.

John did not appear impressed with the statement, but at least did not say anything like "Look where that's gotten you," as he sometimes did with religious people.

"Before we dump you in his lap, we need to know what you are," John said.

The girl looked over at Sam, confused.

"He wants to know what kind of mutant things you can do," Sam said.

"I can hear what people are thinking when they touch me," Maya said. "They hear what I'm thinking."

"And feel it," Dean said.

"Yeah," she said. "That too."

"Anything else?" John asked.

She looked at Sam again.

"What do you mean…sir?" she asked.

"I mean what I asked," John growled. "Can you do anything else?"

The girl shrunk down in her seat, shoulders hunching and arms drifting up, ready to cover her face. "I…no. Nothing else. Nothing else, sir."

John stared at her for a long minute and then stepped away. He didn't really relax, but Dean and Sam had experienced enough of their father's mood swings to know violence was no longer imminent. At least not directed at the girl.

"Sam, come with me," John ordered. He looked at Dean. "Watch her."

"Yes, sir," Dean said, shooting Sam a sympathetic look.

Sam, shoulders slumped but scowl in place, followed his father to the door. The girl looked back and forth between Dean and Sam. Her hands twitched and her mouth worked. She couldn't seem to cough up a sentence until John slammed the door behind him.

"Is…is he going to be ok?" she asked.

"What?" Dean asked.

"Sam," she said, head still down.

Dean scowled. He hated that people thought his dad was some kind of monster who beat up his kids, but he supposed he could forgive it, just this once, since the girl had been on the wrong end of a Winchester glare. He'd seen grown men piss themselves under similar circumstances.

"Sammy'll wish pushups had never been invented, but he'll be fine," Dean said.

"Oh," the girl said. She finally looked up at him. "Thank you."

Dean shrugged. Out of the three of them, he had the least to do with her rescue. He went to his duffle and got out the salt, rechecking the windows door and vents, and scratching a few of the sigils a little deeper into the paint around the frames. He found half a bag of M&M's in his duffle. He saw the girl sit up a little as the yellow bag was brought to light. She had been watching him, and pretending not to. Both their stomachs growled.

Deciding to be a gentleman, Dean held out the package to her, his mind drifting to _ET_ as she took the bag with the two fingers of her bandaged right hand. It started to spill and he caught it, accidentally touching her fingers again.

_Those were Reese's Pieces._

"Oh, right," Dean said, feeling twice as hungry after the brief contact.

As she sat crunching away, Dean wondered how long it had been since she had eaten. She hadn't said how long she'd been in that camper, but maybe she didn't really know. He doubted the FOH had bothered to feed her much, either way. He poked at his father's duffle bag and heard the glass bottle in there clink against his steel toed boot. Dad would notice right away if the level of Jack were at all reduced, and he'd be doubly pissed if Dean drank while on guard duty. It wasn't really food anyway. Dean finally settled for a box of breath mints and some water, hoping to calm his gut down.

He didn't just want the whisky for the calories, of course. He did not want to think about people for a while. Monsters had an excuse for what they did. He could even see the logic in wanting to register or imprison, or even kill mutants that were dangerous to regular people. He didn't get the torture, though. Why not just shoot her in the head and be done with it?

He wondered if she knew. The guys who grabbed her probably touched her skin at some point, since they had taken her clothes. What would it be like to have that kind of shit in your head? Did she want revenge on the people who did this to her and her mother? She didn't strike Dean as the vengeful type, but maybe when she ran out of scared she'd have a chance to get angry. Maybe she could bond with John over that.

_So you've lost everything and you want take it out on someone?_ He thought, looking over at her. _Welcome to the club._

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Author's note: This was a bit angsty, but hopefully not over the top. Reviews are always appreciated, when they have something to do with _this_ story. If you want to comment on _The Truth Decays_, please go to that story to do it.

P.S: ET belongs to Spielberg.


	3. Chapter 3

**Birthright**

**By Marz1**

**Chapter 3**

John Winchester was angry, and he didn't think anger was unreasonable in this situation. Sam had run off and done something without planning or consulting, and he'd put all their lives at risk. He hadn't apologized for it of course, just argued until they were both hoarse and red in the face, saying he'd done the right thing and refusing to admit he'd done it in the wrong way.

The second time Sam threw up, John told him he could stop running ladder sprints and call it a night. Sam was scowling and silent on the drive back to the motel. That was fine by John. He'd take it over scowling and mouthy any day. When he walked in the door, Dean was fiddling with his new rifle and the girl was curled up in the smallest possible ball at the top right corner of one of the beds.

John caught the sympathetic glance Dean shot his brother. Sam, shaking with exhaustion, headed for the shower. Sam paused to look at the sleeping girl. John had a bad feeling about where that was going. Sam seemed to feel John's stare and rushed out of sight.

"Dean," John said. "Go find us dinner."

"Yes, sir," his eldest replied.

Dean picked up his jacket and walked out the door. John felt a lot of his anger fade. Dean, at least, could be counted on not to do something stupid just to get a rise out of him. He had a feeling Sam would only get worse as he got older. He heard the Impala start up and roll out of the lot. The shower was running and the pipes started to creak and howl.

He looked back at the girl. Only her nose stuck out of the blankets. He did not need the extra trouble she'd cause. Her story was sad, but it could have been lies. If she was a mind reader she could have pulled painful memories from Dean or Sam and come up with a tale she thought would resonate the most with his damaged little family.

If she was telling the truth, she couldn't go home anyway. If a mob was responsible, with the support of law enforcement, no one would back her up. He intended to look up the fire the next time he had access to a library. He supposed if they'd declared her dead or some such thing, he wouldn't be endangering Pastor Jim by dropping her in his lap. They'd print her up a fake birth certificate and she could start over. Jim would probably be safe if he understood the girl's powers.

John grunted to himself. Powers. Weird psychic shit. Even if there was some genetic thing in common in all mutants, it didn't explain where their powers came from. And even if the source was neutral, mutants killed people by accident as often as they did on purpose if the newspapers were to be believed. He didn't think the girl could kill anyone with her uncontrolled mind reading ability, but he still knew next to nothing about her. Of course, her inability to escape from a crappy camper did attest to her uselessness.

He considered the girl might've used her powers to make Sam let her out, but he decided that was unlikely. As much as he wished Sam's attitude and impulsiveness were something foreign and excisable, he knew he wasn't that lucky.

He wondered what Sam felt when he touched the girl. Dean said it was shocking and disorienting, but Sam didn't seem particularly disturbed when he came in contact with her. She probably had some control over it. He was half-tempted to poke her arm just to find out, but if there were side effects, he needed to be free of them, in case Sam or Dean needed him. He also couldn't risk a nosy mind reader telling his boys things they weren't ready to know.

When Sam got out of the shower, John was still standing over the mutant, watching her sleep. Sam looked the girl over before going to his duffle for fresh clothes, as if he didn't trust his father not to do something to her. He already knew Sam's faith in him was at an all-time low. The entire summer Sam had been picking apart every sentence out of John's mouth, never letting an omission or a half-truth slide.

John looked back at the mutant. He noticed the rhythm of her breathing changed, though she kept her eyes shut. She was pretending to be asleep, hiding under the blankets as if he were the monster in the closet.

His thoughts drifted back, though his gaze stayed on the mutant. In Vietnam he'd heard rumors about the special units, staffed by mutants with abilities applicable to warfare. He also recalled the bonus offered if you noticed one of your fellow soldiers was a mutant, and told your C.O. about it. That was before they had genetic tests for it, when mutants could hide more easily.

He remembered shooting the shit with the other teenagers and men too young to order their own beers, talking about what they would do with their money if they found a mutant. He remembered offering to buy everyone weed, and Deacon jokingly accusing him of being one. Now he wondered what he would have done, had he actually found one out.

Dean returned with greasy fast food bags a few minutes later. He'd probably broken all kinds of speed limits. John knew his oldest tried to act as a buffer between him and his youngest. He was in equal parts annoyed and grateful for it. The girl sat up as Dean slammed the door. She saw John watching her and looked down.

Dean stuffed a handful of fries in his mouth and then started passing out their meals.

"I didn't buy that much girl food, so you'll have to fight Sammy for it," Dean said, cheeks puffed out as he chewed and spoke to the girl. He took out a plastic bubble container filled with green and yellow stuff and held it out to her.

"She's starving," Sam chided. "She's not gonna want a salad."

The girl looked warily at the green substance that was purportedly salad, but she held out her hands for it anyway. "It's fine," she said.

Beggars could not be choosers, John agreed silently.

Sam snatched the container before it reached her, and put a burger in her hands instead. She tore the paper off her food and took a big bite. It stretched her split lip, but she didn't seem to notice. She probably wouldn't have noticed the gluttonous little "urmph" noises she was making if Dean hadn't started making the same sounds, except louder.

"You and that burger wanna get a room?" Sam asked, his face pinched.

"We aren't ashamed of our love," Dean said taking another bite and groaning.

The girl laughed and then choked. Sam smacked her on the back and glared at his brother as she coughed. Dean looked a little guilty and, as an apology, handed her Sam's fries. John found himself frowning again. He had trouble explaining to himself why. He had raised good kids, and they were being nice to someone who deserved their pity.

"I'm taking first watch," John announced.

The three teenagers started and then Dean said "Yes, sir."

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Pastor Jim didn't answer his phone in the morning either, and with checkout time approaching, John decided they would take the mutant girl to Blue Earth themselves. It was an eight-hour drive from Nebraska, give or take, but there was a series of suspicious drownings in the Chippewa National Forest that he wanted to look into, so it wouldn't be too far out of their way.

The first five hours in the car weren't too tense. John had turned up the local classic rock station until it almost completely blocked Sam and the girl's chattering in the back seat. Sam was telling the girl about "The Crucible" and about the advanced algebra program he had completed.

They stopped for lunch in Sioux City, and Dean went to get the girl a few shirts, jeans, and a pair of shoes from a Salvation Army store while Sam collected another bag of burgers for lunch. John sat in the driver's seat of the Impala, watching the girl while pretending to ignore her, and going over his notes and maps. He needed to find a place to plant Sam. It was late August and if the boy didn't have an armful of textbooks by September, there'd be no end to the bitching.

The summer had not started out well. Sam was mad that Dean had dropped out of his last year of high school, right before Sam started his first. When John told Dean a GED was good enough, Sam had called him a liar. John had promised the boys they'd stop hunting when they caught and ended the creature that had killed Mary Winchester, though the promise came up less and less as the years went by. Sam said if Dean was going to have a real life after hunting, he'd need a diploma, and if John wasn't going to let him get one, it meant he had been a liar all along. Sam had gone so far as to suggest that John had killed the creature years ago and just never told them so they couldn't leave. John probably would have smacked his youngest had Dean not jumped in the way.

John never wanted this life for his sons. He wanted them to be happy and normal, but none of them could afford to waste time daydreaming about something they'd never have. Dean understood that, but Sam just wouldn't get his head out of the clouds. A perfect report card wouldn't keep you alive, weapons training and experience using the weapons would.

He watched Sam walk back to the Impala, his shoulders slumped as he crossed the parking lot with as little enthusiasm as humanly possible. He was well and truly a teenager now. John decided a little more responsibility would straighten the boy out. Putting him in the lead on the drowning cases would be a good start.

John let Dean take the wheel for the second half of the trip, mostly so he could keep a closer eye on Sam, and make sure he didn't drift off task. The girl volunteered to help Sam with his assignment, mentioning she had received her cartography badge in girl scouts. John was less than pleased when Sam handed the girl a pencil and had her mark the maps for him, but he decided not to make an issue of it, since she would be out of their hair by the end of the day. Or so he thought.

John intended to leave the girl at the rectory and speed off, with as little explanation as humanly possible, but when he had pulled into the parking lot, an unfamiliar priest was sending the Saturday evening worshippers on their way. John left the teenagers in the car and approached the priest. The man had a little bit of communion wine staining his beard. Since we wasn't burned by it, he likely wasn't possessed.

"I need to speak with Jim Murphy, he around?" John asked, trying not to sound pissed. He thought he succeeded but the cleric eyed him warily.

"I'm afraid the pastor won't be back until after Christmas," the priest said. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Don't think so," John said. "Is Jim at another parish?"

"He's on a mission in Haiti at the moment."

John managed not to curse. "Jim ever tell you about Pulaski in '71?" John asked, to see if the priest knew anything about the actual spiritual world.

The priest shook his head. "I'm afraid not."

If the pastor hadn't told his fellow priest about his first run-in with a real demon, it meant he was not a Hunter. John thought the religious man might be able to help the mutant, but if he wasn't and he connected Jim to some kind of mutant underground or something it would make trouble for the pastor, and it would leave John with one less ally he could trust with his sons.

He gave the other priest perfunctory thanks, and walked back to the car in a less-than-great mood. He dug a cell phone out of the glove box and handed it to Sam.

"Call Singer," John said. "See if he'll take her."

"Is Pastor Jim alright?" Sam asked.

John shrugged. "He's buggered off to the Caribbean."

"Uncle Bobby's answering machine is turned on," Sam said in a small voice.

Which meant Singer was out on a case of his own instead of at his junk yard. John looked at the boys who were both staring at him nervously, and the girl who was looking at the floor.

"Head for Big Fork," John told Dean. "We'll try Singer later, drop her there on the way back."

Dean nodded and started the engine.

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**Author's Note**: This story starts out when Dean is 18 and Sam is 14, sorry if the ages were unclear. Feel free to review!


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